I wonder if the dinosaurs knew what was coming?
Did their dinosaur God warn them they were about to go, or simply pull the rug out from under their giant feet?
Did they have time to put their affairs in order, say goodbye to one another and find a comfortable place in which to face extinction?
Were they going about their business, munching placidly on the local vegetation when the end came, or were they all staring at the sky at a cataclysmic moment?
Did the dinosaurs have any clue that newer creatures, better suited to a changed environment, were going to take over their domain?
I wonder about these things. Especially when, as is so often true these days, I'm feeling a bit dinosaur-ish myself.
What a life. One day, you're nibbling on the high branches and thinking there aren't many fellow creatures bigger -- or better-suited to their environment -- than you; suddenly, you're on your way to becoming part of a puddle of petroleum. From master of all you survey to a short second life in the gas tank of an SUV or minivan.
Even given the limited cognitive powers of their tiny brains, it must have been frustrating as hell for the dinosaurs to sense those first indications that their kind was no longer needed, no longer had a place in the food chain.
They must have sensed it.
Some of my kind can apparently interact with the new breed that is taking over the world. I can't.
All I ever wanted to do was nibble at the vegetation and make -- or at least practice making -- little dinosaurs.
But the new breed -- those who know the tricks to get others to bring the food to them -- have no need of me. Neither, apparently, do any of the other new life-forms. I'm in their way, and they play by new rules which my tiny brain isn't flexible enough to allow me to adapt to.
Metaphorically, all I'm good for is a few miles'-worth of forward travel in their cars. After that, I'm hydrocarbons.
And when some well-intentioned scientist reconstructs me and puts me on display in a museum, the children of a few members of the new breed will stare, and perhaps fantasize about what life must have been like when creatures like me walked the Earth.
An exact, lifeless replica of me for the kiddies to gawk at will do me no more good than it did the dinosaurs. I'll still be fuel for their mothers' cars and airplanes, as they rush to cohabit with members of the new breed.
It's hell being a dinosaur. I know this.
15 hours ago